


you're not nice to me (but you're so good to me)

by ghostwit



Category: One Piece
Genre: By just a bit. Before the Alabasta arc started., Canon Compliant, Crocodile is so tired in everything I write aghcdj. sorry broe., Fluff, I guess!, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pre-Canon, lol I know rite . lol.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23076472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwit/pseuds/ghostwit
Summary: "It's been a long time," Doflamingo's crooning, high and bombastic, kissed with just a bit of breathlessness, and Crocodile gives an annoyed grunt, but tips his head anyway, lets puppeteer's fingers trace the cut of his jaw, reverent and tittering.
Relationships: Crocodile/Donquixote Doflamingo
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58





	you're not nice to me (but you're so good to me)

"It's been a long time," Doflamingo's crooning, high and bombastic, kissed with just a bit of breathlessness, and Crocodile gives an annoyed grunt, but tips his head anyway, lets puppeteer's fingers trace the cut of his jaw, reverent and tittering. The ache in Donquixote's gut is repulsive, absolutely unfitting for a king, but he indulges it, dives headfirst as he always has and dips to lay a quick kiss the scar arcing Crocodile's cheeks. It's coarse on his lips, texture of each striation searing along the seal of his mouth, and it sends something spiking up through his veins. 

"You always say that," Crocodile grunts, reaching up and planting his adorned hand over his shoulder, giving him a rough shove with enough force to have bowled over (and then some) any other man. The sensation lingers, cool rings and warm skin through thin fabric. 

Doflamingo's already gone, though, paying no mind to the distance placed between them, filling the gap as naturally as liquid. "Gorgeous," his hands snake around Crocodile’s waist, fingers seeking the stark cut of his ribs beneath the well-tailored vest, already having squirmed under the flare of the coat to let its velvet rest over the backs of his palms. His reptile has always had fine tastes. 

Crocodile hisses air around his grimace. "You always say that, too." Doflamingo tips his head back and laughs loudly, feeling the weight of Crocodile’s hook settle in the small of his back. Crocodile sighs and places a palm over Doflamingo’s chest, the warmth of his hand on bare skin split in half by the thin cotton of the younger’s shirt, coarse and loose as in keeping with the sweltering weather. His head tips forward, a strand of hair coming loose to brush against Doflamingo’s skin, creased forehead resting on the knobs of his knuckles. He sighs again, letting his eyelids lower. The king of Dressrosa can barely contain his shake, the elation buzzing in his chest at the soft sweep of the lock. His fingers tighten around the firm of Crocodile’s ribs and bites back a happy croon, just keeping his head tilted back and sucking his lips in so his smile arcs his face in one dark line, straining his cheeks. 

“I just got here, and you’re already tiring me out.”

* * *

He eats neatly, hook resting in his lap and elbow brunt on the table, something Doflamingo snorts at upon notice. He smiles, lopsided and wide, showing all his teeth, and switches the utensils in his hands: fork to the left, knife to the right. This earns Doflamingo his own smile, a wry little tilt and half a roll of the eyes from Crocodile. 

“Need any help?” Doflamingo smiles, twirling the knife in his wrist and gesturing to Crocodile’s lone hand. The smile he was indulged with disappears, wrung clean off his face, and Doflamingo laughs, head turned straight to the darkened sky. A star twinkles in turn with the glint of his grin, catching the candlelight, the rays of a lamp leaking through the opened double doors into the bedroom washing their backs in wavering light, and Crocodile tucks his fork into his fist to rest a cheek on his upturned knuckles. He’s unimpressed, tracing the silhouette of Doflamingo’s form. Doflamingo tilts his head back, meeting Crocodile’s eyes--he narrows them at this--and lending him a close mouthed smile; his hand slips under the table to grasp the curve of Crocodile’s hook. 

With his head tilted like that, the fork flashing along the parallel of his cheekbone, Doflamingo can watch the bob of Crocodile’s throat as he talks, long and smooth, strands of hair curling handsomely over the barely visible shadow of rows of cartilage resting beneath pale skin. It’s small talk, a quip about Dressrosa’s strange dining etiquette, and he spreads his knuckles a little, moving to prop himself up on the first joints of his fingers again, blinking slow, as if wishing for a cigar. Doflamingo feels his own blood run down the popping veins in his wrist, starting the trickling slide down the ridge made by his ulna where it doesn’t soak the white cotton of his shirt.

* * *

Baby 5 peeks over her hands, painted nails (Sugar’s work, Doflamingo squatting nearby and letting his tongue droop with delight as the girl took his palm in both hands, the gargantuan hand dwarfing the brush and making Sugar give up after the pinkies--to make things even, she said) hovering in the edge of her vision, as she nudges the Young Master’s door open with an elbow. 

_“Baby 5, won’t you go clear the Young Master’s plate?”_ _Monet bats her hand toward the other end of the hall. “I don’t think he allowed anyone in last night,” she says, with a knowing smirk. Baby 5 is happy to comply, excitement burbling in her chest enough to outweigh the dread of having to deal with the man responsible for her late fiancé(s), especially so soon after the sun’s risen._

She’s almost tempted to slip her heels off, knowing Doflamingo’s capricious sleeping schedule, with the way they click on the tile as she steps into the room, especially when she’s greeted with the sight of Doflamingo still stretched over the bed, one arm thrown up to curl around his head, the other crossing his chest to rest fingertips on--his guest is still here! She flushes dark, the tips of her ears buzzing with heat. He’s faced away from her, just a dark curtain of hair barely against Doflamingo’s shoulder, bare skin hinting towards a well muscled back that disappears under white sheets, the fabric stretching over his form sinking slow and even. 

She quashes a gasp into a sharp intake of breath through her nose, averting her eyes from the two and quickly making her way to the balcony. She sets about clearing the table, cringing at the clinking of plates as they’re gathered. 

The smooth roll of the serving cart hitches as it passes the threshold of the balcony doors. She glances up at this and catches the sight of the Young Master rolling in bed, wriggling until his torso is half dropping over the edge of the mattress. The strange motion is enough to distract her from the disappointment settling deep in her ribs, and he throws a toothy, upside down smile at her from beneath the hand shielding his eyes. 

“Thank you, Baby 5,” he says, flopping an arm over his head to let it rest palm-up on the cool floor; There’s deoxygenated blood drying over the joints of his fingers, dark and flaking. Her shoulders jump, heart singing her maxim of usefulness, and she steps from the room with a smile gracing her lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> I SHOULD've written the end part with Monet so she could've been like :eyes: and Doffy could've been like :eyes: but li. It's fine. Writing him being like. weird and domestic and lowkey in love after rereading those bits of Dressrosa was so funny, but like agdchbvnj. I thought I should finish something. 
> 
> I also really like writing Doflamingo cutting his fingers on Crocodile's hook, I dunno, something about a subconscious display of trust, the surrending of his weapons (puppeteer bastard, lol). 
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed or anything! I really do appreciate any and all of them.
> 
> hazeism.tumblr.com


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